Curate, connect, and discover
Isn’t it funny?
A tear turns into sniffles turns into sobbing turns into six years old with hands outstretched.
Hands soon to be smacked away by the bite of thoughtless words.
Hands that learn it’s better to cinch at the waist lest they get smacked once again.
Hands that soon don’t even bother to squeeze back once taken back in an effort to mend.
The tears that don’t seem to stop, even when the pain has long since passed.
The urge to cling and beg for mother’s attention that will not be given.
A woman who is not at fault, but will shoulder the blame anyway because to place it elsewhere is to place it on the intangible.
A woman who sleeps only a room away yet stays ten years out of reach.